


Tart

by Missy



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Affection, Alcohol, Cooking, F/F, Food, Food Porn, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, Plants, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25461484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Anne has tended this raspberry bush for the past five years, carefully paying attention to every little difference in its tender leaves, watched each blossom fall and allow a ripe raspberry to bud in its place.The fruit are ripe, and now that she has too many raspberries to possibly deal with on her own, she calls Diana in.  But an afternoon of cordial making leads to something much more interesting for both women.
Relationships: Diana Barry/Anne Shirley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Tart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



Anne patted the raspberry bush with a fond, gentle hand, her gloved fingertips caressing a waxy, flat leaf. 

“There you are,” she said aloud and to no one in particular. “All grown up at last.” She climbed up from the ground, her knees dirty from the silt. Anne wiped her brow with the back of her elbow and felt sweat settle and collect about her ears. She let out a soft sigh and surveyed her hard work with a smile and a muffled laugh. She’d gotten the plant from Rachel, who had given up on it – too scrawny, bleached by an early summer heat, it seemed as if the raspberry plant would never ever thrive and would die off.

“Let me have it,” she begged. “I think I could do it justice.”

“It’s not worth the effort to save it,” Rachel had groused.

“Now I wouldn’t say that,” Marilla declared. “In fact, it might be a wonderful lesson for Anne. Might even get her a green thumb.”

Rachel mumbled at the very thought, but soon she was uprooting the raspberry bush so that Anne could replant it at Green Gables. 

Years passed by and eventually the bush began to thrive – bearing lovely, fragrant blossoms and thick leaves. When it began to bud fruit, the raspberries were pale, brainy clusters of dark red that smelled like heaven’s own perfume. They tasted like tart little bursts of life, bright and shimmering sweetly. Every day, Anne made sure to weed it, to trim it, to fertilize and water it. As if recognizing its own vulnerability and status as an underdog, she bonded with the plant and became one with it.

**   
That first crop was a bumper one. Marilla and Anne made raspberry pies with golden, flaky tops filled with delicious berries; they boiled pots of the stuff into chunky pots of jam and tall, shimmering ruby-colored glasses of jelly. They made pandowdies and buckles and slumps and tarts and cheesecakes, and made failed experiments with cookie dough that would have made any other person weep like a tot. They even put some of the strained juice over a baked chicken, but the bird didn’t fare as well as they’d hoped.

When they still had pints to spare as August arrived, Anne called Dinah in for help in getting rid of the surplus.

“Only you’d understand,” Anne said, putting a big steel pot on the stove and checking the flame before adding enough water. “There’ll be enough demand for a cool drink even by the end of the month, when this has had time to work.”

“Cordials?” Dinah asked. “Oh, Anne, I can’t imagine trying to make them again. Remember when we tried the first time?”

“Of course,” Anne said gaily. “But we’re older now, and we’ll take our time to make sure this batch is perfect.”

It seemed to take forever to mash the berries and extract their ruby pulp, sieving it over with cheesecloth until nothing but a clear liquid remained, flavored with sugar carefully stirred in and lemon juice liberated carefully of its seeds. Elbow and elbow, the two women worked, occasionally shooting each other glances and smiles. They had been here before. But it was different now.

With funnels, they filled bottles, and then left them to cool before they were capped. Sitting on the porch in the golden summer afternoon, Anne noticed a little fleck of raspberry seed stuck to Dinah’s cheek.

Impulsively she brushed it away, feeling buttery soft skin, touching velvet warmth. Then, just as impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed her best friend’s cherry-colored lips. 

Dinah blushed when Anne pulled away, her eyes bright and soft as a cloud.

“You taste sweeter than the drink,” Anne observed, and sighed happily at the revelation.


End file.
